


Jerusalem's Pillars

by Kastaka



Category: Neil Gaiman - Neverwhere
Genre: Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:33:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/pseuds/Kastaka





	Jerusalem's Pillars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KacyCallum](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=KacyCallum).



 

 

_The fields from Islington to Marybone_  
 _To Primrose Hill and Saint Johns Wood:_  
 _Were builded over with pillars of gold,_  
 _And there Jerusalem's pillars stood._

The Marquis de Carabas stretched and yawned. Whilst his teeth were no longer than your conventional human's, there was a glint to them, warning the observant watcher that this was no conventional human.

Door was an observant watcher. Even worse, she knew that she probably still owed the Marquis a very big favour.

It was all the fault of that Mayhew fellow, of course. If he hadn't been so indecisive, or so honourable, she was sure she could have got out of the favour somehow. Especially with that key in her possession. But no, she'd owed a big fat stinking blood debt to the mooncalf and she'd used it up to get him something that it turned out he didn't even want, in the end. So here she was, hovering nervously in one of the Marquis' many hideouts and sleeping places, waiting for him to acknowledge her requested presence and tell her the bad news. (Of course it was bad news. You didn't call in a favour for good news.)

"Some time ago," began the Marquis smoothly, as if he had not just a few moments ago been sleeping contentedly in a pile of furs against the corner of the long-abandoned and now quite dry and pleasant sewer-way, "I made a certain enemy. A powerful enemy, and one I deeply regret continuing to be in the bad graces of. However, transpiring events subsequently demonstrated that she was quite fond of a certain friend of mine." He smiles, cruelly. "A certain friend of mine that owes me a very big favour."

"Serpentine." It wasn't a question.

"Ah, my young friend, perceptive as ever, I see. I am glad we could so easily come to the same conclusion, it says wonderful things about our future co-operation." All smiles. All teeth.

"You want her favour?" Resigned, but curious.

"Or her death."

* * *

"My dear child! How lovely to see you."

Serpentine's guards looked as alert as ever, and Door felt very small indeed in the great lady's presence. There was no doubt that Door _could_ kill her, but whether Door would get out of it alive and whether Serpentine would stay dead were entirely separate questions. Of course, the terms of her agreement with the Marquis would be satisfied simply with a death, no matter how impermanent, but Door couldn't help but feel like that was cheating. Damn Mayhew and his infectious sense of honour.

"And to see you, my lady," replied Door demurely.

Serpentine's people ushered both of them to a half-room set with comfortable furnishings and an exquisite occasional table loaded with a fine silver tea-set, and Serpentine proceeded to pour Door a cup of something pleasant-smelling and herbal.

"My dear child," she said, pushing the cup into Door's politely unresisting hands, "you absolutely must tell me all about what has happened since our last meeting! I hear that Islington is dead, and that you've set about reclaiming the old Lord's fief, and that we have a new Warrior of London. It all sounds like an absolutely delightful tale."

Door sipped the tea cautiously, but it had no obvious effect beyond the usual calming properties of a really nice cup of herbal tea.

"I'm afraid," she replied solemnly, "I've come to make a request. The kind of request that, despite my temptation to offer it in such terms, you're unlikely to trade for a simple story, however fascinating."

"Oh dear," said the Lady Serpentine, in a tone that made it clear that she was sorry for Door's distress in needing to make such a request, not at all worried on her behalf that she might not be able to grant it. "Well, there's never been any good come of dallying on business, that's what I've always said. Spit it out, child, and perhaps we can make some compromise of it."

"The Marquis sent me," she said, simply.

Serpentine's previously cheerful demeanour iced over, her face setting in a moue of disapproval, with just a hint of a wry smile acknowledging that she understood how little choice Door had in the matter and conveying that her fondness for the girl still remained, as of yet.

"What business," said the lady coldly, "might that worm have with a Lady?"

"Well, that precisely," said Door, her matter-of-fact voice picking up an underlay of resignation. "He deeply regrets having offended you so unforgivably, and beseeches that you might consider relenting in your undying enmity and coming to some... less antagonistic... understanding." It is like Door is reciting something off a page, somewhat apologetically.

"Deeply regrets, hmm?" replied the lady, melting just the tiniest fraction. "Wishes to come to some understanding, does he?"

When the moment stretched beyond a dramatic pause, Door nodded very slightly, hoping that the Lady Serpentine would continue her train of thought and come to some favourable conclusion.

"There is a market," said the lady Serpentine at length. "The power station. Three days' time. He may find me there."

* * *

The Marquis was not without his own resources, as the people of London Below converged on the abandoned shell of Battersea Power Station. The grand arcade of the 'A' turbine room was an excellent location for a market, although stallholders squabbled over the rising pillars that were an ideal place to hang additional merchandise from. But he contrived to look as if he was alone, coming cap in hand to the great Lady Serpentine.

The Lady was making no such pretenses, and was attended by quite a train of her people - bodyguards, butler, servants, sycophants, hangers-on. The populace stopped and stared, or hurriedly made way before her, such was her presence sweeping down the left-hand row of the market (some enterprising stallholders having set themselves up in the middle of the great expanse of floor, splitting the space in two). More onlookers hung from the galleries above, hoping for a glimpse of why the Lady had come herself to market. Normally she would never expose herself thus, sending servants and lackeys in her place to such a public event.

The Marquis approached through the crowd and bowed low before her, and an unaccustomed hush settled over the nearby area, although the bustle of the market continued abated a little further away (and the two closest stallholders looked rather put out, until some of the Lady's train disentangled itself and began quietly conducting commerce with them almost as an apology).

"My lady," he intoned, watching her carefully for her reaction, ready with a speech he had prepared and rehearsed many times.

"Don't you dare call me _your_ lady," warned the Lady Serpentine in a low and dangerous tone. "Unless, of course, the great Marquis de Carabas has decided to swear fealty at last."

"Would you accept my fealty if I offered it, my lady?" he asked, an attempt to lighten the heavy mood.

"Certainly," replied the Lady Serpentine. "My first order would be that you kill yourself, of course, and do it properly this time, as I hear it can prove tricky to get quite right."

The Marquis made a modest gesture, as if to say that he was glad that such an eminent Lady had heard his insignificant tale and was at all impressed by such mundane trickery.

"Of course, I'm sure you will have no trouble carrying out such an order, as we know you are quite an expert at the removal of inconvenient persons, hmm?"

The message was received loud and clear by all knowledgeable parties. She had not forgotten the massacre of her sisters, she had not forgiven his attempt to inherit their domain, and it was going to take rather more than simple flattery to win her to his cause.

"I may have previously employed some experts in such areas," he acknowledged carefully, "but it is more pleasant matters that I come to speak of today." He reaches inside his coat for some item, careful to keep the operation in obvious view of the Lady's bodyguards. "There is a certain item that I believe you might have some interest in, or at least interest in the origin thereof," he explains, drawing forth from his coat an apple.

There is an indrawn breath from the assembled. There is only one kind of apple that the Lady Serpentine is known to take an interest in.

"My people can buy these by the dozen," she stated coldly, "in the right parts of the world."

"Yet this one," he tossed it to her lightly, and she caught it without effort, "was grown right on our doorstep."

"Door's kind of doorstep?" asked the Lady sarcastically, not deigning to even examine the fruit.

"No," said the Marquis, deadly serious. "In the circles of Lambeth. And I know the way."

* * *

St John's Wood was deep and dank. A long ago memory of London before London, a time of jungle long before the continents of the world had torn themselves asunder, let alone thrown out this lonely isle on which London now stood. The Lady Serpentine was proceeded with machete-bearing men, who were stripped to the waist and sweating profusely in the tropical heat; and by the Marquis, hands bound behind him and at the point of a sword.

At first he had kept up a playful dialog about how such precautions were really unnecessary and reduced the Lady's dignity as well as his, but such words had long since grown weary and heartfelt and subsequently abandoned as a waste of the energy he could be using to ensure that nothing unrecoverably embarrassing happened, such as a fall over one of the myriad tree roots which competed to ensnare his feet while his impeccable balance was somewhat impaired. Subsequently he had fallen into a dark mood, stalking along the forest floor like a great cat denied sustenance for one too many days, or having lost its cubs to some meaningless tragedy of the wild.

Door was there, of course, trailing behind the Lady Serpentine and attempting to look chipper and attentive whenever anyone important was looking. Wasn't this expedition exciting? Wasn't this discovery grand? That was what she was trying to convey. In any case, it meant that the Lady and her immediate entourage could retire home when they required rest and refreshment, and return to where the expedition had reached when they were done.

There was a lot more of St John's Wood than any of them had previously imagined. Normally one could cross the place in scarcely an hour's walk, less if you were well prepared, assuming you were prepared enough to cross the jungle at all. But the route that the Marquis took them on was devious, and by all measures there was no way that it could have been simply a circuit of the area previously known to be covered by the Wood. No, this was some deeper way, as was made abundantly clear when the well-known tropical jungle started to fade into deep, shady English forest.

The Marquis slowed at this point. Looking for trails. Scenting the air. "I am most terribly sorry, my dear lady, but the route does diverge so in this place, and I must be certain that we are taking the correct path." The machetes were retired, and in their place the Marquis led the party, his hands unbound to allow for the sniffing of pinches of soil and the feeling of trees whose patterns apparently informed him of the appropriate direction.

In a clearing, there stood rough-hewn pillars, such as you might see at any stone circle. They were impressive enough in their own right, standing tall and straight with good solid cross-pieces, and even more so when you considered that each one appeared to consist entirely of gleaming, polished gold.

But the attention of the Lady Serpentine, and those among her retinue who had the least bit of sense, was upon the Tree, standing in the middle of the circle. Barely more than a sapling, perhaps a decade old, it hung heavy with glorious fruit.

"My lady?" enquired the Marquis.

"You will lead me here again, and my people, as often as we might request?" she asked, imperiously, keeping the wonder out of her voice, although it was obviously an effort. "And none other will hear of this place apart from at my command?"

"Of course." There was an air of faint offence that she should think he might behave otherwise.

"Then you may consider your debt paid," she replied. "The blood debt for my sisters is no more, and the House of Serpentine recognises you as our ally."

Door looked at the Marquis in a demanding fashion, and the Marquis gave her a sideways smile.

"It's so refreshing when such accounts are settled," he commented, with a meaningful glance at Door. "Shall we?"

As two of the Lady's servants approached to gather the fruit of the tree, Door walked over to one of the archways, a look of concentration coming over her face. She reached out, eyes closed, and _twisted_.

On the other side of the archway was a well-appointed drawing room, already set with a decanter of brandy, glasses and cigars. Well, half of one. The other half of the room was a railway track.

The Marquis blew Door a kiss from his palm as they retreated from the forest, at the point where he was sure no-one else could see them.

 


End file.
